


We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programme

by Dangersocks



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Awkward Carlos, Cecil Headcanons, M/M, Radio Powers, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, earl is a good boyfriend, team cecearlos 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There’s too much nudity on TV, and not enough on the radio.” - Jarod Kintz</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M_Moonshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Waltz for Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184060) by [M_Moonshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade). 



> This is a tribute to [**M_Moonshade**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade) who kindly accepted and encouraged a tiny fic with this very idea. I finally had time to make it a little more...thick. Full? 
> 
> Substantial. 
> 
> Please, more threesomes. And Moonshade, thank you for doing so much with the dynamics of such a relationship! I would imagine that this could take place sometime after chapter one of **A Waltz for Three**.

Sitting in a chair. Legs splayed. Leaning forward. Hands on thighs, clammy. Breathing softly, because louder would interrupt. Louder would interfere. Louder is…

 

The headboard.

 

The mattress.

 

The Scientist.

 

The noise that Carlos makes is not quite a moan. Strangled. Self-retained. Borderline growl. It comes again, paced on the offbeat of the headboard. It is an obscene sound. It is wonderful.

 

Sitting in a chair. Legs splayed. Leaning forward. Hands on thighs, clammy. Breathing softly, because louder would interrupt. Louder would interfere. Louder is…

 

The headboard.

 

The mattress.

 

The Scout.

 

The noises that Earl _doesn’t_ make accentuates the replies from his partner. Each stifled sound leads to a pointed silence from the man setting the pace. A flicker of expression, undecidedly disappointed or equally challenged. A change in tactics, a shift in force or rhythm. Deliberate. Calculated.

 

Sitting in a chair. Legs splayed. Leaning forward. Hands on -- hands not on...clamm -- Breathing. Breathing loud -- Not breathing! Unbreathing. To interfere...it...louder would interfere. Louder would…

 

The headboard.

 

The mattress.

 

The chair. The silence from the chair. The rapt attention...not breathing...eyes fixed on a face...ears hinged on the sound, skin slap creak wood squeak spring fingers spit swell lips sweat love --

 

“Cecil?”

 

The sounds cease. The hollow, mournful settling of the bed leaves the room eerily empty of vibrations. These, the Scientist fills with a real groan as the friction stops. As mussed hair splays to frame a crazed and lucid gaze. Those eyes soon reason themselves back home when they fall on the concerned and distracted Scout above them. Earl peers hard at the chair. At the nightstand with the lamp shining at them, and the silhouette leaning forward in the shadow of said spotlight.

 

Earl is shining with exertion, though not nearly as much as Carlos gleams. He is flushed, but his eyes are growing sharper. His hands still clench the hairy knees and his thumbs slide a gentle circle as if to remind the Scientist that he is not forgotten. Not…

 

“Cecil?” Carlos calls now, too. His voice is choked. He swallows, dry. His skin buzzes. He blinks and sees…

 

“I’m so sorry,” Earl says. Pants, pulling up. Drawing out. And for an instant, nothing excuses this. Carlos will never forgive this. But Earl speaks softly and with the awareness that knows he is betraying something, and while he may not be at fault, will treat himself as the guilty party. He --

 

Carlos braces his arms under himself. Props himself up without whimpering. Has enough self-discipline to not grab where Earl should be grabbing. Follows the other man’s gaze as Earl, without shame, climbs off of the bed. As he leans forward towards the chair, snapping two sweat and lube-stained fingers smartly in front of their observer.

 

Sitting in a chair. Legs splayed. Leaning forward. Hands on thighs, clammy. Breathing softly, because louder would interrupt. Louder would interfere. Louder is…

 

“Cecil.”

 

It is less of a question. More of a sigh. The naked Scout drops his shoulders and turns another apologetic stare at the man on the bed. The man now less angry and starting to be concerned, too. Worried...very, because…

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Earl shrugs one shoulder, almost sheepishly. “We...broke him?”

 

Carlos frowns, sliding his gaze back to the man in the chair.The man in the chair who is unmoving. Breathing...barely. Yes, but...silent. Staring. Unblinking and…”Broken?”

 

Earl Harlan drops a hand on Cecil Palmer, not surprised when the reporter does not flinch. Does not react. Continues to stare at the bed where Carlos is crawling, gingerly, to his hands and knees. Those eyes are wide, but not following. “He...well, how to explain? If you would be so kind as to turn on the radio on the nightstand?”

 

Carlos leans over, aware that he is showing off many parts of him. Several that want for attention and...no, he is _not_ upset. He should be understanding, but the alarmclock radio is right next to the bottle of lube and the anal beads and...

 

A twist of a knob brings the local station up. They don’t listen at this time. This hour usually involves the screaming or the wails of orphaned penguins, or once, an emergency transmission from some distant planet. But tonight, now...suddenly: Cecil Palmer.

 

“...the trail of hair that runs from his navel, down to his cock is no less perfect than the generous coif on his head. And speaking of heads, Dear Listeners…”

 

Carlos snaps his attention back to Earl and Cecil, where the Scout is in a very naked crouch, peering up and running a small matchstick of flame across the reporter’s line of sight. Where Earl had hidden the match is as important as how Cecil is reporting from the station when he is clearly here and --

 

Cecil’s eyes are not following the flame. His mouth is not moving.

 

“That dark cock is rich, and full, and thick, growing tall as legs are spread wide with a deliberate purpose…”

 

Carlos flushes and jerks the volume to silence. He is...mortified. And…quickly becoming unaroused hearing about his arousal on the radio. Earl stands and delivers a third apology to the Scientist. His eyes are painfully expressive. “When he’s intensely moved...uh, this happens. He broadcasts as a way to cope if the distraction is...”

 

“And we...we intensely moved him.” He is postulating. Relying on facts. It usually grounds Carlos but...they shouldn’t have suggested that Cecil _just watch_. This had not happened the first time and... “Just this radio, though. Right?”

 

Earl flashes his teeth. Doesn’t directly meet Carlos’ inquiry. Stares instead at his own waning member. “Oh...usually. Though after this many years as a broadcaster, maybe the building. No more than the block, surely.”

 

He doesn’t believe Earl. Carlos’ mouth is incredibly dry now. Desert dry. The pent up energy from the sudden end of coitus now wants to become nervous fidgeting and tearing around. Perhaps he can reach every radio in the apartment complex. Perhaps science can induce a city-wide black out or memory lapse and… “When does this wear off?”

 

Carlos tries the volume again. He knows he shouldn’t do it, but he does. Cecil’s voice remains level. Consistant. Dedicated. But the only consolation that Carlos finds is that the host is now describing the musk of Earl, mingling with the salty scent of precum and lavender.

 

Carlos really thinks it is unfair that Earl does not turn a deeper shade of red at hearing his name. “Cecil will eventually get it out of his system and be fine afterwards. Horrifyingly embarassed, but...well, we’ve never found a faster way to stop this without hurting him and I’m not willing to...experiment. He’ll just eventually stop on his own. Maybe an hour or two, depending on how poetic or...inspired he is.”

 

Earl leans down, scooping at his uniform. Carlos watches his main boyfriend with an indecipherable stare, undecided as to how he feels. Forgiving. Sympathetic. Terrified.

 

Night Vale feelings.

 

A labcoat and a pair of pants are offered by Carlos’ tentative boyfriend. “If you’re willing to continue, I’m game but...well…”

 

“The mood…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

On the radio, there is a pair of calloused fingers tracing an intimate path to Carlos’ ass and the Scientist is described as muttering about how much he wants it. This is the past, but hearing it now does nothing for the man involved. His ears burn as he thinks of who may be listening. Sure, the whole town knows they’re dating and even experimenting but…

 

He gives Earl a desperate look, hoping for guidance. Demanding to know why the Scout is not panicking or packing his bags for a very long and far away camping trip. More importantly: can Carlos come?

 

Cecil is talking about cum. And Carlos.  

 

Earl smiles, faintly. Carefully. “Don’t let it bother you. Cecil will be grateful later if he thinks you’re okay about this. And...well, who cares what anyone else thinks, right? We’re adults. And I certainly am not ashamed of us.”

 

Carlos accepts his coat, aware that he will feel no less naked while wearing it. This is the fastest buzzkill he has ever experienced. But Earl...Earl is strong. Earl is wise.

 

“If we hit up the All Night Diner, the sympathy and the shame gets us some free entrees.”

 

Cecil’s voice slips over the airwaves, talking of hunger.

 

“I guess it’s a date,” Carlos accepts. He watches Earl pull Cecil’s phone (blinking, messages piling up) to leave a brief note as to the change in plans. Then, with a final look at Cecil, they go to eat.

 

Not the planned meal, but Carlos isn’t as rich as Cecil proclaims and if Earl is correct: a free entree is a free entree.

 

Sitting in a chair. Legs splayed. Leaning forward. Hands on thighs, clammy. Breathing softly, because louder would interrupt. Louder would interfere. Louder is…

  
  
  



End file.
